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theorememes2025-11-03 08:07 am
TDM #1, arc 1.0: we drift like worried fire
BUFF
Bonded of The Sorrowweld will find that the NPCs are especially friendly to them this month. Seriously, they just keep trying to give you things. It might get annoying.
DEBUFF
For those who are bonded to Tarnished Az-Mehet, you keep seeing shadows out of the corner of your eye on every screen in the ship, even your datapad. Something is lurking.
At first, you feel a pull. In which direction, you do not know. When a portal of shimmering black and glittering stars appears in front of you, it only seems natural to step into it. On the journey, it is as if you see everything: ancient galaxies wheeling through space, cultures born and growing and leaving their planets, lights creeping over landmasses and them winking out all at once. You see the hungry arm of a black hole, an enigmatic smile under a mirrored mask, a fist clenched tight around an endless sword. Fangs shining in starlight, bandaged feet that have traveled so many miles and still remain sturdy, and code shattering under titanium will.
And then your feet touch solid ground again, and what you have seen is suddenly hard to recall, the merest of glimpses springing to mind when you try to think back.
All you know is that you witnessed something enormous, something you probably shouldn't have seen.
As you struggle to refocus your gaze, all you see for a long moment is white. White walls, white floor. Narrow white cots lined up against a wall, screens blinking above them in tones of soothing aqua and mint. You are in a medbay — a highly advanced one, given the lack of bulky machinery — but perhaps the most eye-catching thing about the room is a long window showing endless black and twinkling stars outside.
Before you can give voice to any thoughts, a small robot flutters toward you, and perches on the back of a chair. "Hello, Wayfarer!" the birdform chirps cheerfully. "I imagine you must have many questions; allow me to enlighten you! You have fallen victim to a quantum accident and have been pulled to another universe, but the Ascendants, in their generosity, intercepted your signal and brought you here so that you did not wind up in empty space. You are aboard the Theorem of the Astral Rose; our mission is to explore uncharted space and search for the Song!"
They pause, thinking, their little blue eye aglow, and then brighten.
"Oh! Introductions are in order! I am Starling's Lament in Flight, but you may call me Starling's Lament. I am one of the Hosts of this exploration vessel; we will do everything we can to ensure a safe voyage for you. Unfortunately, at this moment, we cannot send you home. The Ascendants have indicated that their search for the Song may play some key role in doing so." They whistle a merry tune. "Please enjoy your stay!"
When you manage to get your wits about you -- it's a bumpy ride between universes! -- you start to leave the medbay. Starling's Lament has indicated that you are free to explore the ship, and nowhere is off limits to you. As you leave the cool white tones of the medbay behind, a hallway stretches out in front of you. Both sides are transparent, offering a view into the long dark of space beyond. However, unlike deep space, there is currently quite a lot to see.
On the left lays the broad curve of a planet, lush green landmass and white clouds skidding across its surface. Its star is just sinking behind it, lighting up the very edge of its atmosphere in tones of engine-burn orange and ozone blue, as long shadows cast by enormous space elevators creep across the landmasses. Its most eye-catching feature, however, are the hexagonal structures webbed across its surface, connected by fine corridors with all the geometric precision of woven spider's silk. You can just barely see the tiny dots of spaceships flowing around them, docking, embarking, shuttling between them.
"That is the Redline Trading Post." You hear a tiny whisper, and look up to see another robot — a beetleform, this time, with a shiny dotted shell — watching you curiously from its place on the ceiling. In fact, there are a number of other Hosts doing the exact same thing; a snakeform coiled around a barrier rail, a catform with bright yellow eyes peeking around the corner, a chirping droneform hovering some distance down the hallway. They're all fascinated by you. "But we will be departing soon. You will not get to taste the Galactic Snowball Nova-Cream, the shining culinary jewel of Redline. Sorry. I hear it is very tasty."
You look to your right, away from the planet and the Redline post, to gaze out into the depths of space. In the distance, there is a nebula, its gasses lit up in shades of coral pink and deep purple. It is pockmarked with stars both young and old, newborn stellar entities cradled in the depths of its life-making dust. Set against the dark of space, it is a flower in bloom.
It's beautiful, except—
The longer you look at it, the more something nags at the corner of your mind. A memory glances across your thoughts, unbidden. Something you hoped for, maybe; or something you fear. Whatever the memory, as you gaze at the nebula, a small piece of it curls, shaping in response to your memory. It is your face, reflected perfectly. Smiling, or howling in anger, or weeping.
Eventually, the nebula will go back to normal. But for now, it reflects the fears and triumphs of the new Wayfarers, a mirror held up in the darkness of space.
Once you make it into the bulk of the ship, the Hosts inform you that as they have just restocked all essential supplies, they will be throwing a party in your honor, and they hope you will sample the food.
Maybe you're incredibly dubious about this. Maybe you're starving after your long journey. Either way, you find yourself in the mess hall. It's less like a traditional mess hall and more like a park full of food trucks with seating in the middle. The food trucks are bright and eye-catching, Hosts serving huge heaps of food from their interiors, as their signs advertise everything from Earthen Ancient Egyptian food (As Close As We Can Reconstruct It!) to Raxalar Black Stew (New and Improved: Now Free Of Grit!).
Real grass is underfoot, and the picnic-style seating in the middle appears to be real wood. The lighting is a myriad; whimsical string lights strung between the trucks, floating globe lights playfully dancing like fireflies, and the luminescence of a dogform's patterns and a droneform's enormous eyes and a flyform's glittering trail. The Hosts are clearly excited.
And if the food happens to have... some kind of effect?
Well, the Hosts say, that's only to be expected! The attention of an Edict may, for a nano-second, turn toward the start of this voyage, and that's bound to make anything go a little wonky. Also, they've used some ingredients from the local system, and it's only customary there to share some thoughts and ideas and memories when you eat together. How else can you properly get to know each other?
This may or may not look appealing to you depending on your sensibilities, but it does smell incredible. Soft, savory red meat paired with the fragrant, earthy scent of the vegetable. The Red Buffalo is perfectly seared, and if you poke them cautiously, you'll find the spikes are entirely edible, as long as you chew well enough. If Wayfarers eat this, they will find themselves sharing a memory with the nearest person, a vision of the last time they were truly happy.
It seems the Hosts aren't quite sure of the appropriate alcohol content of substances, as this will burn all the way down, chased by a cool, sparkly feeling all the way down one's esophagus. It tastes of sweetly sour plums, and a potential hangover tomorrow morning. Wayfarers that imbibe this alcohol beverage will start overhearing the thoughts of those around them, as if they are perfectly in tune with everyone.
Ah, a perfectly homey looking meal, sweet and savory, gently steaming. These are a must-try for any Wayfarer with a sweet tooth, proudly boasting of the agricultural and apiary skill of a nearby alien culture. The buns are perfectly fluffy, the spiced honey is warming. What's not to love? After eating this, Wayfarers will find themselves and the nearest person sharing a vision of themselves as they might have been had they gone down the worst possible path in their life.
This isn't the Cherry Cola! you may or may not be familiar with, but it's interesting that whatever alien came up with this came up with the same Earth word. Or maybe the Hosts got it from Earth? Either way, it's fizzy, it's sparkly, it makes you feel like you're floating on rainbow bubbles. Upon drinking this, imbibers will telepathically project outward a vision of the most beautiful thing they've ever seen.
Dear god. What is it? Who came up with this? Who is even brave enough to try this? It certainly… has a taste. It… has an appearance. Whether either of these things are good is in the eye of the beholder. Wayfarers adventurous enough to put this in their mouths (or other eating appendages) will find themselves uncontrollably speaking aloud of the thing they long for the most.
Eventually, it comes time to launch.
The Hosts are a blur of activity, some of them packing up more delicate equipment in case of errant gravity waves during initial propulsion, some of them herding the Wayfarers into a seating area reserved specifically for the safety of its occupants during launch, deceleration, and rare turbulence. You are informed that engine flare will be so bright it will rival a star for the next twenty-five hours of engine start-up burn, but you will only need to stay strapped in for half an hour or so.
As the Theorem's enormous engines start cycling, the entire ship seems to hum in melodic song. And after everybody is strapped in, that's when the intensity starts. Gravity seems to want to push everything toward the stern, and Wayfarers are pressed hard against their seats with the inertia. After half an hour, the Hosts cheerily announce that everybody is free to get up and move around — but you might want to stay near a window, as they will be doing a low dive through the nearby planet's second moon's atmosphere, and it will be quite the sight.
Soon enough, the moon becomes visible. It is of unbroken crimson red, though subtle shifting in its surface lets you guess that it's water rather than earth. And then, as the Theorem rolls gently to the side, the view in the windows nearly perfectly split between moon and space, that's when you see them, swimming through the atmosphere.
To call them fish would be inaccurate — they are not in an ocean, or any body of water — and yet, that will be the word that springs to mind for most Wayfarers. Some of them are sleek and small, schooling in packs of shimmering white and ochre. Others are long and pointed, appendages pointed backward to exude a bright pink gas that propels them forward and which trails after them like oil slicks in the air. The locals call them x'enuda, the Hosts tell you, a combination of words that mean to fly and cunning prey.
They swim closer, swarming outside of the window. Some of them swim through, phasing through the shielding and windows alike, to dance gently in the interior of the Theorem, darting to and fro. If any Wayfarers find themselves curious enough to reach out and touch these creatures, they will find themselves similarly phased, capable of passing through matter for the next few minutes before the shared electrical field wears off and returns them to normal corporality. The external shield will catch you if you phase right through the ship's floor, but you may need to swim back up. Others may find themselves suddenly craving company, as if the x'enuda's instinct to remain safe in a school is catching.
"All Wayfarers, please report to the docking bay!"
As you filter into the enormous cavern that makes up the docking bay of the Theorem, you see rows of smaller spacecraft. Some of them are sleek and light, like they'd be as free as a feather during aerial combat, while others are bulky and spacious. Many of them have designs in alien languages on them, or bizarre looking mascots, seemingly for good luck. As the occasional screen informs you, you are free to claim any one of the ships as your own, but first, Starling's Lament would very much like to give a presentation.
Past the rows of ships lays an expansive opening in the side of the Theorem, many stories high and wide, a shimmering forcefield the only thing between you and space. Beyond it, you can see the quickly fading shape of the planet and moons you left behind as the Theorem continues acceleration. It is in front of this that Starling's Lament has set up a large hologram of a star map.
As they start to explain once everyone is gathered, the map currently shows the region of space you are in. It is an enormous quadrant of multiple galaxies, some pinwheeled in shape, some circuler or tube-like. A line arcs across it, heading into what is clearly less-explored space, beyond the area colorfully marked as Alliance territory. Eventually, that line stops at a star, which then magnifies to reveal a six planet system, the second planet from the star circled.
This is your first objective: designation Epsilon-355.
There are many stories of which planets the Last Pilgrim has set foot upon, and yet, nobody has ever verified any of them. This, the Ascendants claim, is the closest match they have found for one of those planets in a scrap of story: a land of golden sand and shimmering glass, where pilgrimages track their way across the Golden Barrens desert. The planet is small and unassuming in the hologram, and the details next to it are scarce: relatively normal gravity, breathable atmosphere. More details will become available as the Theorem gets close enough for in-depth scans.
If there any notes of the Song to be found, they may yet be found in the Last Pilgrim's footprints.
Presentation nearly over, Starling's Lament directs you a series of tables that have neatly assembled packages of gear. Once you have picked your Division, you are welcome to claim the technological tools of its trade. You can also look at the spaceships available to claim, or even just watch out the docking bay door as you leave the planet behind and head deeper into space.
Welcome to the mission, Wayfarer.
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Dean won't look this indulgent gift horse in the mouth, dude. This is the definition of being a kid in a candy store. What if one has torpedoes? What if he dies in a starship battle and can have his body shot out in a torpedo casing like in the movies? No he doesn't want that to happen but like, if it had to happen??? Badass.
If Cas wants to be no fun about it unlike Charlie who would've freakin' loved this, that's fine. Dean is off in search of... the fabled.......
love at first sight. Or something generally like that. With one of the Iron Horizons specifically. Maybe it's not as sleek or fast as the other options but it is roomier and it looks like it could crash into stuff easier.
It's a little dinged up. Scratches on the paint job, couple of dents, needs some TLC. There's something painted on the side that could be an alien skull but could be a weird alien flower or something. It's alien enough that he thinks it's cool either way.
A man loves to talk big game about kicking the tires and checking under the hood until he gets immediately attached to his little starship that could. Oh well. ]
Cas! [ Not a dire danger urgent serious yell. Just a regular Dean yell. ] Get your ass over here!
[ Come get your man, Castiel. You're the one who let him loose in the used car lot. ]
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Eventually Cas makes his way over to the ship Dean's circling like a vulture if the vulture was in love with its food, not really looking up at it and still poking at the buttons on the scanner. If Dean wants input he's going to have to prompt Castiel for it, per usual.]
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........
THEE most put-upon sigh and eyeroll. ]
Lookin' for an opinion here, buddy.
[ Tell him he gets a good grade in picking spaceships even though you don't care about the spaceships. ]
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It looks. [Word for big that is also flattering.] Industrial. [close]
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Yeah. Yeah, she kicks ass. Industrial. Sturdy. [ That's all he wanted, Cas, a word for big that sounded flattering. It counts as approval if Cas doesn't say it sucks, right???
He starts circling again. ]
I'm gonna-- I mean, get the paint touched up. Buff out these dings, make sure she stays runnin' right. And, [ !!!!! ] we can add on once I hustle us some credits. More room.
[ He is so smart at spaceship picking. (He has already imprinted on it like a mama duck or whatever and will not hear of any others.) ]
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Dude, how long have you known me? [ Does that make his point: no. He stops circling the ship to make his actual point. ] You think I do "long-term plans"? Ever?
[ Girl if we all live through two months consecutively it's a miracle. Of course not. Dean plans on like... nebulous goals they work towards and what he's gonna get for lunch. Maybe. ]
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Why do you need to be able to add more space on this ship? [Cas assumes if Sam shows up they're hijacking this big one (aka the Theorem) for the presumably superior FTL traveling capabilities.]
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Why order pie after dinner, Cas? Why... hustle pool when we already got cash? Huh? Why do I get the hot bartender's number even though we all know we're not comin' back to town?
[ Bc you're resource insecure and repressed and making it everyone's problem, king. ]
'cause it's there. And it's awesome.
[ Which he seems to think makes his point perfectly. You're welcome. ]
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It makes him happy.] You'll need tools then, I suppose. To make sure she 'stays runnin' right.'
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Trust his new girl to strangers? Not take care of her himself??? What is he, a deadbeat? Nah. He's gonna hustle and steal and cheat and lie and get all the money and tools he needs to do it personally, while this lasts. Obviously.
When's he ever gonna get to play around with spaceship engines again in his life? C'mon. ]
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There's another matter to address.] ...why are vehicles commonly referred to as female? [Cas had wondered briefly if it was a Dean thing, but the shrimping boat sailors kept calling all the boats 'she,' and now Dean didn't even think about calling this new vehicle 'she.' Maybe it's a womb thing.]
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He guesses there are crew quarters on the main ship, too, but he's gotta figure out where he stands on using those. ]
Ask Sam later. [ Sam's a nerd who paid attention in history class, right? They'll be in a position to talk to Sam soon, right???
Dean is crushing that emotion like a tin can before it can go anywhere. Hard nope. Gotta be functional. ] All I know is she's pretty.
[ It's just like a thing. It's a thing and he does it. Look at her! She's gorgeous. ]
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Basically it's a couple minutes of parallel play while they both poke at their new space toys. Dean is satisfied enough when he's climbing back out. ]
If you start to give a crap about living space while we're out here, you can have your "you're welcome" for pickin' a winner now. Wasabi here's gonna get the job done.
[ Dean's starring in a horse girl movie rn for real. Only he can tame and understand her... this wild beast... yes she's already named, yes he is already attached. ]
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Looks at the ship.] ...Wasabi?
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It's only because he is, in fact, very proud of himself. ] You know. Doesn't look like much, but she'll bring the heat. Little goes a long way?
[ Don't ask him to explain his process. There is no process. He received his inspiration, he moved on. ]
Wasabi.
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Looks at the...chunky one that Dean picked, for the sake of expansion in some nebulous future that may or may not come to pass, depending on how quickly they can figure out what the fuck pulled them here and how to reverse it.] You haven't driven [driven? flown? piloted?] it yet.
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Not relevant. I got a good feeling.
[ Vibes-based spaceship selection. ]
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True, but still rude. ]
Not to me it ain't. [ Source: he's right about this and also everything else. Forever. ] You think you can do better?
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He'd named some of the honeybees he'd watched for a while, but that wasn't a true Naming. They didn't want or care about the names, so it was more for his own sake than for theirs.
Castiel walks around the entire ship carefully, slowly, observing all the shapes and colors before coming back to stand beside Dean, gazing up at the machine.
He then recites a six-line poem in the extinct language eteocypriot, about the vastness of the sky, the way the peoples of that age would think of it as the daily death, about how just around that time, as living became less of an agony, humans began to explore the concept of a world beyond their world. Flecks of salt strewn over volcanic sand. Crushed shell cast over soil and loam. She is a cloak to hide you, a god to consume you.
Yes the entire poem is the name.]
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And slightly insecurely because of how seriously and deeply Cas is thinking about this. Like dude, does he actually... have a better one...? ]
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Well, I gotta hand it to you, Cas.
[ Holds his hands up like he is totally surrendering, because he's a petty bitch. ]
Hell of a long way to say "no."
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